


Yavanna's Garden

by blackraspberryjam



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Erebor Never Fell, Arranged Marriage AU, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 19:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11858130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackraspberryjam/pseuds/blackraspberryjam
Summary: Based on the Tree of Erebor prompt by Squire.Erebor has a sacred tree, planted by Durin and his wife in the First Age and it is the duty of Consorts to care for it. After Thrain's wife passes, the tree begins to rot. In the attempts to save it, King Thorin sends out messengers to all kingdoms. If a gardener can heal the tree, they will be rewarded.The Thain offers Bilbo Baggin's help in exchange for protection for the Shire, at the expense of a political marriage. So, Bilbo becomes King Thorin's consort and the caretaker of Yavanna's garden, but how is he supposed to deal with a new society, a loveless marriage, and a sacred tree?





	Yavanna's Garden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [squire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/squire/gifts).



The foothills around Khazad-dûm were rarely empty. If there was not another caravan coming to the great city, it was an envoy moving outwards. While the city prospered and grew, there was still a great need to stabilise, and Durin was well aware. The influx of his people was strong, like a current in a riverbed, and they needed much to keep afloat. They had rich minerals to mine and metalwork to craft, but there was yet the need to have enough food to support a stronghold. They had their own farms that grew crops and raised animals, but not enough to last with the ballooning population.

After careful thought, Durin reached out to his neighbors and surroundings. There were groups of Men would dotted the land around them that they traded with, but the encampments were not large enough to work to support a city. They were supplements to a much larger problem. It was a similar case for the other Dwarven strongholds founded by the Seven Fathers. Most were close enough for trade, but took far longer to travel than was preferred, and many of them had similar problems as he had. It was when his emissaries brought back word from the North that he had a larger hope.

In the valley of the river Anduin, there was a large grouping of those called Hobbits. They were nomadic people who had a great knowledge of local plants and raised their own beasts. They were open to the idea of trading, which was remarkably lucky. They proposed a large amount of trade and enough food that could finish the societal pillar that Durin needed. They also proposed something a bit further daunting.

They proposed a marital union between Durin and one of their own, to solidify their deal. While his brothers of the Seven Fathers had been created with their wives, Durin had been lain to sleep alone. For the good of his people, he ultimately chose his wife amongst the Hobbits of the River Anduin. The young woman had actually volunteered for it. Durin had been meeting with the leaders of the clans when a young woman had stepped out and boldly requested to court Durin herself. Amused by her audacity, Durin accepted.

Acorn was a Harfoot with deeply tanned skin and prophetic dreams. She had been born with an acorn clasped in her hand - a blessed child of Yavanna. She told Durin of the many triumphs and failures that his people would be a part of. She revealed that he was the true image of Mahal and would be reborn again and again to guide the Dwarrow in their most crucial moments. While he was the image of their Father Creator, she was the image of their Mother Creator.

Blessed by the very Valar, Acorn and Durin eventually married and ruled the kingdom of Khazad-dûm together. Shortly after their wedding, Acorn guided Durin’s Folk through the Greenwood and to a lone mountain point, rich with minerals and veins of precious metals. It was yet untapped and open for the dwarrow. It was a secondary source of material for Khazad-dûm and became a trading point on the route to the Iron Hills.

In the highest point of the Lonely Mountain, there was a large opening with glimpses of the sky poking through from fifty feet above. Acorn brought dirt and seed into the terrace and planted a garden, full of living flowers and bushes and herbs. In the very center, she and Durin himself planted an acorn. Acorn cared for it greatly and soon it sprouted into a tall tree, entirely colored in gold. From this tree sprouted beautiful golden flowers, a true sign that Yavanna had blessed Durin’s Folk.

After Acorn has passed, her eldest daughter, Fern, long grown and wed to the new Lord of the Lonely Mountain, began to take care of the sacred tree. The blossoms had faded and died when their Queen had, but the tree remained glorious and healthy. Many years had passed, each Lady of the Lonely Mountain taking care of the tree and it’s alcove, lest the Lady’s favor be lost or their First Mother’s memory be lost.

With the loss of Khazad-dûm in the Third Age, Thrain I brought his people to the Lonely Mountain, Erebor. There, they worked on making an outpost into a city. They mined the rich veins and uncovered beautiful jewels. They built halls and city blocks and trading with the beginnings of the Man town in their foothills. When Thrain’s wife, Auða, had turned to care for the tree, they were surprised to find that the golden tree had sprouted large blossoms. It was another sign of Yavanna’s blessing on her husband’s people.

It became the Queen and Consort’s duties to care for the blessed tree and to keep it healthy and whole. The golden blossoms would appear several times, in crucial and special moments. It bloomed when the Arkenstone was found, a rite of rule. It bloomed when the mountain successfully fended off a dragon in the Third Age. It bloomed when Royal children were born hale and healthy, if only for a short while.

The blooms wilted when Thrór’s wife Brynja passed, and again when Thrain’s wife Frís passed. After Frís’s passing, the tree began to no longer shimmer. It was when the outer leaves were beginning to show signs of rot that the royal family was deeply concerned. Dís, sister to King Thorin, tended to the tree as her mother had shown her to, but the tree was slowly dying of rot. It was not until a whole branch collapsed that King Thorin sent out missives within Erebor for a skilled gardener to heal the sacred tree.

No matter the quality of fertilizer or the amount of watering or how many mirrors were brought in to direct further sunlight, the tree still withered. Soon, the King needed to send messages further into the world. Any who could heal the tree would be rewarded handsomely. The tree had stood since the First Age and was planted with the blessing of the Creator and his Wife, as well as their first Mother and their Greatest Father Durin. It could not be allowed to rot away.

Dwarves from the Iron Hills were sent to the Lonely Mountain and then home again when their efforts fail. Manfolk came and went and a few elven gardeners are allowed to the tree, as desperation began to set in, but their tries come up to nothing. Envoys were sent out across Middle Earth constantly and King Thorin could feel the strain settling in. His father, Thrain, had only passed away a decade ago and Thorin’s own rule was shaky on newborn legs. The rot of the sacred tree was a terrible sign and it was on his shoulders to fix it. Soon enough, he would find the one who could fix it.

One group of emissaries entered the Shire, where the Hobbits now resided, their people shifting away from the Valley of the Anduin. They were rumored to have rolling green hills and a mass amount of farmers. They happened to arrive at the midsummer festival, where the whole of Hobbiton gathered together to hold contests on what they’ve grown. At the midsummer festival, it was mainly flowers that were entered and each was more gorgeous than the last. Large lilies and simple zinnias dotted the tables for showings. While the dwarrow weren’t exactly clear on the smaller details of gardening, they did notice that one Hobbit seemed to be winning every contest he had entered.

Bilbo Baggins had entered, and won, in the categories for marigolds, dahlias, lilies, peonies, zinnias, and daffodils. All his flowers seemed to be larger, more colorful, and smelled far better than his competitors. When the dwarrow company reached Tookborough to speak to the Thain, they specifically asked if Bilbo would accompany them to Erebor. He was an excellent gardener, from what they understood, and they would reward him richly if he could save the tree.

Gerontius Took was not an unwise Hobbit. In fact, he was quite wise indeed. He asked the dwarrows what use his grandson would have with gold and jewels in the Shire. There was simply no need for them, and his grandson was rather well off as it were. He did offer them another idea. Gerontius would allow Bilbo to go to tend to the tree in exchange for protection and trading. The previous winters had been harsh and the world was not as safe as it used to be. If dwarrows would assist in the winters and open a trade route between the Shire and Erebor, Gerontius would let his grandson go. He also had one more stipulation.

To cement the agreement, he asked that his grandson marry King Thorin as a political match. The dwarrow emissaries conversed via raven with Erebor and gained the approval of the match. King Thorin had heirs in his sister's sons and had long since been agreed as to being a bachelor. If his sacrificial marriage would save the tree, it would certainly cement his rule and liken him to his forebearers. It was agreed upon that they would be bringing Bilbo to Erebor before winter started and another group would head to the Shire for aid.

It was another matter when Gerontius summoned his grandson to tell him of the deal. Bilbo was certainly not pleased with the arrangement, especially as he had no say in it. He had no desire to go across Middle Earth to be married to someone he hadn’t meet or even heard of. He was comfortable in his smial, despite his status as a confirmed bachelor. 

The Thain reminded Bilbo that the dwarves’ protection could prove to be vital for the entire Shire, especially in fear that there would be another Fell Winter. The wolves had crossed the frozen Brandywine river and laid waste to many starved, ill Hobbits and they were yet recovering. Bilbo’s own parents had passed away then, his father through sickness and his mother of a broken heart.

His sacrifice would lead to the health of the entire Shire, and Bilbo could find little that he could use to refute against it. Even as he passed out of the Shire’s borders on a pony destined for Erebor, Bilbo still felt a little cheated. He left Bag End behind, to be given to a young soon-to-be-wed Drogo Baggins, and all his friends and relations chose to stay in the Shire instead of coming to his wedding. He couldn’t blame them for it, although he wasn’t happy of their decisions. The idea of a wedding was strange in all honesty.

Bilbo had expected to be a bachelor. He was only thirty five, just past his majority, but he had found none that he would wish to settle down with and have children and life with. Now, the choice was no longer his. He wondered if he might have preferred to have married Peaseblossom Longbottle in his youth instead of a dwarven King. They had little childhood romance, a tryst. She had long moved on and married Jargo Sandybanks.

Yet, it was still a dwarven King he married. Nearly as soon as they reached the mountain, Bilbo was allowed a short tour. The outside was tall and imposing, as was the inside. It was far brighter than he expected, but not quite like the sunshine. There was really a city, simply carved into the mountain rock and built into several levels. A dwarf named Balin came to greet him and introduced himself as the Royal Advisor, then he was ushered off into a set of rooms. They were to be the Consort’s chambers, and therefore his own. A group of several dwarves came in and out to poke and prod and to take measures and to drape clothes and fur over him and to fit metal crowns on his head. Balin assured him that it was to properly outfit himself for the wedding ceremony.

“If I may,” Bilbo asked, slowly. “Might I be able to wear a crown of flowers? It’s a tradition.” The dwarves surrounding him nodded and presented him with a variety of flowers with which to make one. They were an odd assortment with many with opposing meanings, but Bilbo was able to weave one of yellow lilies and ivy, between various dwarrow dressing him. 

“Do you think that’s a good sign?” One of the dwarves said, pinning a bit of trim. “A sign of Yavanna.” Bilbo knew it wasn’t addressed to him and bit back the words that Yavanna’s creatures were the type to marry for love instead of power. However, they also married for prosperity and the wealth of home, and delivering that to his people was the greatest wedding gift he could give them.

Bilbo wore a long undershirt and a high-necked crimson tunic with golden edging. They put a black cloak with a fur trim about his shoulders and strapped ceremonial daggers to his sides. There was no crown save for the lilies, but they attached an ear cuff to his pointed ear, various jewelry to his arms and fingers and a golden torque around his neck. He was saved from wearing boots, but he had several heavy gold anklets set on him that felt nearly as solid. 

Bilbo was weighed down by layers of heavy cloth and jewelery and suddenly understood the plight of young faunts’ dolls who were dressed entirely by what others wanted. The only thing familiar to him was the lilies on his brow and the feeling of stone beneath his thankfully unclad feet. He was lead to a large ornate door and instructed to move to the center of the room and to follow along with the ceremony and what was asked of him. Woefully underprepared, Bilbo moved forward as the doors opened. His door was the side entrance of a dais in a large throne room and there was another on the opposite side that opened at the same time.

From it came what could only be his bridegroom. He was broad shouldered with dark, black hair trailing down his back, held back with a heavy metal crown. His gait was proud and strong in a way that Bilbo could immediately understand that he was raised royally. As they met in the middle of dais, Bilbo could make out his feature better. King Thorin had a sharp nose and a short beard, but most striking were his proud blue eyes. They reminded Bilbo of the color of cornflowers.

When they reached the center of the dais, the officiant began speaking. It was in the deeper language of the dwarves and Bilbo was not privy to his speech. It sounded almost lyrical and rumbling in tone, but Bilbo knew nothing that was truly being said. Bilbo had a hard time choosing where to focus his eyes and settled on the collar of King Thorin’s shirt.

The officiant held out a silvery chalice, filled with what could only be wine and chanted over it several times. He offered it first to the King, who sipped it before passing it into Bilbo’s nervous hands. Bilbo looked down into his meager reflection, worried that his trembling would make him spill it and cause quite the scandal. His eyes flickered up to his bridegroom's - steely blue. Bilbo drank the wine and gave the chalice to the officiant’s waiting hands. There were a few more blessings before King Thorin spoke.

“I promise above all else to live in truth with you   
I give you my hand and my heart   
As a sanctuary of warmth and peace   
And pledge my love, devotion, faith and honor   
As I join my life to yours."

Thorin’s hand traced a loose section of Bilbo’s hair, braiding it carefully and clasping it with the offered bead. After he leaned back, Bilbo understood he would be meant to do the same. He stopped for a moment, deciding whether he should repeat the King’s vows. Bilbo took a section of Thorin’s long hair and began the traditional Hobbit wedding vows, because even if his wedding is to be decided and planned by dwarves, he should be allowed to have something more than lilies.

“Today I make a solemn vow before Yavanna and all who are present here.   
I, Bilbo, take you, Thorin, to be my husband,   
to have and to hold from this day forward,   
for better or for worse,   
for richer or for poorer,   
in sickness and in health,   
to love and to cherish   
all the days of my life.”

After finishing the braid with a bead, Bilbo stepped back again. The vows seemed to have gone over well enough, at least without any scandalized shock. There was more mumbling and Bilbo realised he knew exactly what this point in the wedding was.

“I do.” Thorin said carefully, his deep voice rumbling. The words were not exchanged to common, but Bilbo knew his cue.

“I do.”

Bilbo’s eyes darted to his groom as the next words were spoken, knowing that the wedding would be sealed with a kiss. The officiant declared the marriage official and the crowd cheered. Thorin moved forward and Bilbo inched forward only slightly, nervously. It was almost a relief when Thorin pressed a quick kiss to his forehead, but it was also a little concerning. Was their marriage to be like?

The after ceremonies were incredibly long and Bilbo felt so small in a hall so large with so many festivities. It was a Royal wedding after all and Bilbo was now a part of the Royal family. Bilbo was introduced to each of the Royal Family - Dis, sister to the King and her sons Fili and Kili, the younger brother Frerin. Then there was the aristocracy and many dwarves of some importance that Bilbo was paraded around.

By the time it came to retire, Bilbo almost welcomed it. It was as he was being led back to the Royal Quarters that he remembered the consummation of marriage. Instead, Thorin left him outside the Consort’s Chambers, kissed him on the hand goodnight and simply left.

That set the tone for their relationship, it seemed to Bilbo. There would be several meetings together in public, such as attending banquets or meeting delegates, in which he would be treated warmly enough, but in private it was always quick and polite. There would be a ‘how are you’ and a ‘what did you do today’, but never any lengthy questions.

Bilbo had the sneaking suspicions that he was meant to have more duties than he was truly given, for there was certainly more than a consort should be doing. Instead, they tasked him with the Tree. It was lovely enough, even with the horrific rot taking it out at the branches. The trunk was still silvery, if mostly dulled. Bilbo tasked himself to working with it, trying to coax new life. It was certainly difficult, for rot would usually ruin most plants, but he also understood this was not the usual tree.

Bilbo took time to escape to Yavanna’s Garden, for it was the only time he was ever allowed anywhere with sunlight. The dwarven social code was far different than he expected and he was usually so bound up in this or that that he couldn’t even go on his own. He was always told what he would be doing for the day and what he would be wearing. The only respite is that everyone would let him leave if it was to tend to the tree.

As Bilbo looked up to the shaking leaves, he was reminded that it was the entire reason he was in a mountain with no familiar faces and a husband who was distant. Dis and her sons were pleasant enough, but it was always accompanied by some underlying political stress or was hard to schedule because of conflicting schedules. The dwarves of the mountain looked at him with curiosity, for being the only Hobbit in the mountain, or with contempt for marrying their King and for failing to heal the tree.

He was banking some pine chips around the edges of the tree when he was joined by his husband, although a guard was ever present at the door. Thorin’s figure was still ever so sharp, but Bilbo had begun to recognise when he was weary or not quite full strength. Thorin’s face was sour, his eyebrows drawn into a frown. He touched the tree gently.

“Is there hope for it?” He asked his husband.

“Surely there is.” Bilbo said. “The core of it is still healthy. It’s the outsides that are unhealthy.”

“When will it heal?” Thorin asked, his hand slipping down the trunk. Bilbo didn’t answer.

“May I have some flower seeds?” He asked instead. “To plant around the gardens?”

“Oh course.” Thorin said, turning from the tree. “If you wish it.”

Bilbo indeed got seeds, but they were all of strange types or of varieties he did not wish to plant.

“Can you get zinnia seeds?” He asked one of the guards. No one understood what he was saying and Bilbo felt like it would be foolish to attempt and describe them to him. Not to mention that no one had any clue what a cutting was.

Finally fed up with the stifling court and of being unable to have what he wanted, even in Yavanna’s Garden, Bilbo finally stole away. He only went to Dale, unescorted as he was not meant to be. He felt himself quite clever, wearing boots and drawing his lengthening hair in front of his chin, braided like a beard.

The markets of Dale were beautiful and it was wonderful to be in such a crowd but free to wander and be a part of the crowd. Bilbo was able to get several different varieties of flower seeds and even some rose bush cuttings. Of course, his fun was meant to end, when he was firmly escorted by guards back through the gates of Erebor. His husband was furious when he came back, his blue eyes flashing like a tempest in the sea.   
“What do you think you were doing?” His husband thundered, pacing his chambers. Bilbo set his flower seeds down on a table.

“I needed things.” He said softly.

“You couldn’t ask the guards?” Thorin said.

“They didn’t know what I needed.”

“You aren’t to leave the mountain. Especially at times like this.” Thorin said. “There were orcs sighted outside the mountain.” He said, his rage softened.

“How was I to know this? Bilbo demanded and Thorin huffed, still disgruntled.

“You didn’t. But you still weren’t to leave the mountain like that. You could have been hurt.” Bilbo then saw the real issue. He hadn’t shamed Thorin, but he had made him anxious. It was concern fueling the anger, rather than shame. Bilbo appeased his husband that it had gone well enough and he hadn’t gotten very far, but Bilbo still knew that he would be kept under closer watch, despite his need for freedom.

Bilbo also watched his husband closely in the following weeks. He noticed in other places that his anger rose from concern and that there was many times that he was truly acting out of a sense of duty. He could be sweeter, calming with his nephews, and he could be charming even. He could be gruff, of course, as he usually was with Bilbo, but he did most things because he truly meant the best for his kingdom.

Despite all odds, Bilbo knew what was happening. He was falling in love with his husband, the very husband who was reluctant to touch his hands outside of a royal banquet. Not only was Bilbo miserable in a home full of rules and strangers, but he was also taunted by being in love with the one person he should reasonably have but can’t.

Bilbo was reminded again of the tree, the only reason he was here. If he healed it, there was no reason for him to stay. Thorin could divorce him or tuck him away somewhere once the goal was completed, or if not him, anyone it seemed, as he was bossed into every decision. If the tree rotted and died, the shame would fall on both him and Thorin. It would be sign of a wicked rule and it would cause hardship for all.

It was becoming a more difficult situation as it were. People were unhappy that their King married and outsider and that it seemed that the outsider couldn’t even do the one thing they were meant to. Dwarves accused their king of being weak willed and having fallen prey to a thieving hobbit. Bilbo could hear it when he went anywhere public, for his pointed ears seemed to catch sounds far better than his guards’.

He knew of the abuse aimed to him, especially when he was in front of the public, but he was always caught off guard of how harshly they were beginning to regard their own king. It was almost the first anniversary of their marriage when Bilbo heard of the plot. He was passing the kitchens with his guards when he heard inklings of a conversation.

“....poison the…”

“...the King….amn Hobbit whor…”

It was that night at the banquet that Bilbo realised what he had heard as a drink was set before Thorin with the server having a very familiar voice. Bilbo could smell the sweet smell of Belladonna, his mother’s namesake. The drink was clearly poisoned and as Thorin’s fingers curled around the stem of the chalice, Bilbo had a million split second thoughts.

He could never let his husband drink it. Not only was he a king who should rule for many, many years, he was the sweet gentle man that Bilbo loved so, so much. Bilbo could spill it. Perhaps frame it as an accident, to throw off the poisoners. That wouldn’t stop them, though. They would continue to try and kill Thorin until the problem was solved.

As Bilbo reached out his hand to take the chalice, he thought of his nearly-a-year of misery and unhappy. Of being the only hobbit in the mountain and the one who was failing the task of healing the tree, not Thorin. He thought of the talk in the market and public places, of the Hobbit whore who took the coveted position of Consort. He thought of how the public thought it would be best if the Hobbit whore simply disappeared. He thought of the bittersweetness of having a husband who did not love him.

Bilbo lifted the chalice out of Thorin’s hands. Those beautifully blue eyes looked at him questioningly and Bilbo moved the drink in a slight toast to him.

“I want you to remember that I love you.” He said, tipping the sweet poison into his mouth. How funny it was that his mother’s namesake would kill him. “Arrest the dwarf who served this and dared to harm my husband.” Bilbo said in his loudest voice, holding the chalice in the air. The crowded room was concerned and grew quiet, except for the sounds of several dwarves trying to make it out of the room before being stopped by guards at the Consort’s request.

Thorin’s eyes were clearly puzzled and Bilbo knew that he was saying something but he couldn’t hear it as the chalice fell from his hand and clattered on the floor. The drink must have been made entirely of Belladonna to be this powerful, he thought bleakly.The lights became so very bright and he could feel his heartbeat quicken in his chest before he dropped to the floor.

Then, it was nothing, with the sad sounds of weeping drifting to him.

“How dare you try to leave me like that.” The voice hiccuped. “Professing your love in the most backwards way possible. You didn’t have to drink it, much less the whole damn glass!”

Bilbo’s eyes felt heavy, but he felt feeling returning slowly to his limbs.

“Of course I loved you too.” It was said so softly that Bilbo almost couldn’t catch it. Bilbo recognised the voice, the deep timbre.

“You just need to live, just one more day so I can make it up to you.” Thorin said and Bilbo could feel the dip on his left side. “You never liked being inside. You didn’t like the guards or dressing up in furs or any of...you beared it. For me.”

Bilbo felt the stirrings in his hand and tried to lift it. He failed.

“You were far more courageous than I was. Slinking about, trying to ignore that I loved my husband.”

Bilbo managed to twitch his fingers.

“If you live, I would find you all the flowers you could possibly have and even more.” Thorin said, then a slow hand patted his head.

“Too many flowers.” Bilbo breathed out slowly, his eyes adjusting to the light. His husband’s head shot up, the bright blues that he loved being the first thing he could focus on.

“Thank Mahal, you’re awake.” Thorin said and Bilbo stopped and seemed to realise that himself, confused.

“I hadn’t expected...to be.” Bilbo said, drawing careful breaths as he shook off the drowsiness. “Plant poison…”

“Hobbits stand up to plant poison better, I’ve heard.” Thorin said. “Than dwarves.”

“I see.”

“The cup was mine.” Thorin accused.

“T’was.” Bilbo said. “I wanted to...escape it. The whispers, the guards, my loveless marriage.” Thorin’s face was clearer to him now and he could see the utter pain there.

“It never should have been loveless.” Thorin said, clasping Bilbo’s hands in his. “I should have told you-”

“I didn’t tell you.” Bilbo countered softly. “What a pair we are.”

“I love you, Bilbo.” Thorin said, pressing the first kiss against Bilbo’s lips. “I should have told you this many times.”

“Can you take me to Yavanna’s Garden?” Bilbo asked after a while. “I’d like to see the sunlight.”

Thorin carried his husband out of the sick wing, after checking with the healers, and brought him to the garden to find that all traces of rot had faded away from Yavanna’s garden and there were many golden blooms on the tree.

**Author's Note:**

> I used some flower symbolism here and there, so if you’d like to check out some meanings, you can find my reference here http://thelanguageofflowers.com/
> 
> So, I actually started this story when I first saw the tumblr post of this prompt by Squire probably like a year ago. I only recently went back and finished it up. I loved the concept and all I needed to do was to flesh out the idea already started for me! I hope this is what you were envisioning.


End file.
